Ace of Spades
by Athena R. Masterson
Summary: -Back by popular demand- The 14th Tournament is fast approaching and both new and old contenders are gathering to battle it out. But a new Gundam makes its appearance along with a reluctant pilot and the mystery behind them both will change everything...
1. Prologue Part One Runaway

_"This ain't a song for the broken-hearted,_

_Or a shattered prayer for faith departed._

_An' I ain't gonna' be just a face in the crowd –_

_You're gonna' hear my voice when_

_I shout it out loud!"_

**"It's My Life"**

**Bon Jovi**

So you want to hear my story, huh?  Fine then – settle back for a long, wild read.  Even as I look back on it now, safely on the other side of the adventure, I can hardly believe or understand half of it.  But the whole account that I write is true.  Truth is a hell of a lot stranger than fiction, after all.

If I were to tell you that the story started in FC44, when I was born, that would be a lie.  It didn't start with me.  Not by a long shot.  It didn't even start in FC31, when Gradda finished building…well, I guess I might be getting a bit ahead of myself.  Or maybe behind.  I don't really know.

The story started six years before that.  It all started with a book – a simple book that Grandda chanced to find in the gigantic "dungeons" of our family's Neo-Ireland castle.  A book that was a 140 years old; a book that piqued Grandda's imagination and granted him the inspiration to design and build a technological feat that would revolutionize the gundam world.

A gundam that would accomplish the impossible and triumph where another failed.  A gundam that would stir awe in all those who gazed on her.  A gundam that would change my life forever the instant that I stepped inside of her cockpit.

But I didn't know about that gundam that day, long ago, when my life took its first turn down a strange, twisting road.  I didn't know then, at 16, that I would find adventure beyond my wildest dreams.  I didn't know about Grandda, or my family legacy, or my family secrets.  I didn't know that love was just around the distant bend in my life, or that I would discover honor, loyalty, sacrifice, friendship, and triumph.

All I knew was that I was a brokenhearted teenage girl, feeling incredibly small in a world that had suddenly spun out of neatly ordered control.  All I knew was that my mother lay dead in a casket and that I was trying to find the strength for the hardest performance of my life.

Mom wanted me to sing at her funeral.  Who was I to say "no"?  Even after her death, I couldn't bring myself to defy my mother's wishes.  She was all that I had in my life – singing was my way of honoring her.  So, I struggled to steady the waver in my voice long enough to warble the words of "Amazing Grace."

All of my life, I've been told that I have the voice of an angel.  Clear, loud, strong, and sweet – the kind of voice that could rival the musical superstars of the day.  I knew that the sound of my voice brought comfort to the mourners gathered around the edge of the grave.  But it only mocked me, daring me to finally break down and cry, to wail piteously as the dark oak casket was lowered slowly into the ground at my feet.

I closed my eyes so I couldn't watch.  I was determined to do this one thing, if only for Mom.

_I wonder if she can see me?  Is there really a heaven?  Is she looking down at me right now?  Does she hear me?_

I remember thinking those thoughts as I sang.  My mind wasn't on the words – those came out on autopilot, part of a perfectly memorized routine that no longer required any thought on my part.

Like a whispered invocation, I breathed the end of "Amazing Grace" into the still air.  My eyes flickered open to see the last shovelful of dirt being patted firmly into place on top of the grave.  It was over.  It was the end.  Reality sunk in.

Mom was never coming back.  I was all alone.

"Maxine?" an unfamiliar hand hovered uncertainly, just shy of my shoulder.

I turned and came face-to-face with my estranged father.  Until a few days ago, I had never known him; I had never seen his face.  But there he was, suddenly thrust into my life in the cruelest twist of Fate imaginable.

Blinking away tears, I peered up at him.  I could see why Mom had fallen in love with him.  He was roguishly handsome, with wavy black hair, bright blue eyes, and a pleasant, handsome face.  I knew that I took after him and I knew that Mom had never stopped loving him, even though they had been divorced years before and had never spoken to each other since.

"Maxine," he repeated, finally daring to place his hand on my shoulder.  "I'm…sorry…"

I nodded, not knowing what else to say.  There were tears shining in his eyes – I knew that he spoke the truth.  But why had it taken this tragedy for the two of us to finally meet?  I had dreamed of our reunion for years, but I had never imagined that it would take place at the head of my mother's gravestone.

"Maxine?" another, less welcome voice grated in my ears.

I turned my head slightly and caught sight of my Aunt Jo, bustling pompously forward.

"I suppose I'd best be goin'," Da patted me on the shoulder and turned to go.

"Please!  Don't!" I cried, whirling around and grabbing his hand.

We stood there for a few minutes, gazing at each other.  My heart pounded in my chest – I had just lost one parent.  I wasn't about to lose another one so easily.

"I'm afraid ya' can't," Da shook his head sorrowfully.  "I wish ya' could, Maxine, but Mary…your mother…she wanted ya' to stay here in Neo-America wi' your Aunt Jo."

"I don't want to stay here, though," I wailed, tears streaming down my face.

_I don't want to stay with Aunt Jo_, I risked a hazardous glance at my mother's bristling sister, who was scowling at the exchange between Da and me.  "Can't I come with you to Neo-Ireland?"

Oh!  How badly I wanted to go with Da.  I had heard stories of the beauty – as faded and blasted as it was – of Earth.  The miraculously semi-preserved, emerald majesty of Neo-Ireland was a thing of legend to me.  How I wanted to see it for myself!  As much as I loved Neo-America, Celtic blood ran strong in me and I wanted to see my father's land.

And even more importantly, I wanted to finally have a father.  And I wanted to call the pale-faced, quiet, solemn young man standing awkwardly at a short distance, my "brother."

But even that was denied me.  Da sighed deeply and clasped his calloused paw over my small hand.

"Max, ya've got to be strong."

Tears pricked painfully at the corners of my eyes.  Only Mom had ever called me "Max."

"But you and Patrick are family, too," I whispered piteously, glancing toward my silent brother.

"I know," Da sighed once again and suddenly wrapped me in a tight embrace.  "But I've got to respect your mother's wishes."

His thick Irish brogue drifted softly into my ears.  I could feel his heart beating beneath my cheek and I clung to him, sobbing like the lost child that I felt like.

When he finally let go of me, it was for good.  He kissed me gently on my forehead and surrendered me to the stern custody of my Aunt Jo and Uncle Jack.  Then, he turned his back to me, put his arm around Pat's shoulders, and walked away.

I lost all three of them that day.  My mother.  My father.  And my brother.  I would never see Da or Pat again.  One slipped out of my life in her fevered sleep and the other two walked slowly away, their shoulders sagging.

I called after them, just once.  There was a slight falter in Da's step, but then he quickly recovered and disappeared around the corner of the whitewashed church.  I was left alone, in the keeping of strangers.

Right then, at that very moment, I vowed deep within that I would never let another person I loved walk out of my life.

I would run before they did.


	2. Keeping Secrets

_"It's my life,_

_It's now or never!_

_I ain't  gonna' live forever!_

_I just wanna' live while I'm alive."_

**"It's My Life"**

**Bon Jovi"**

"Hey, Shirley!" the blue-haired man bellowed and stood with arms akimbo, framed in the center of the living room doorway.

"Yeah, Chibodee?" his redheaded assistant glanced up from her sheets of financial data.  "Whatcha' need?"

Her eyebrows arched curiously as she eyed her boss, who was dressed only in his customary pair of bell-bottomed blue jeans.  She was more than used to seeing the world-class boxer parading about shirtless, especially in the confines of his own home.  But there was an agitated urgency in his voice that caught her attention and made her eye him a bit more closely than usual.

"Where's Bunny?" Chibodee demanded, crossing his arms across his naked chest.

"Um…" Shirley thought for a minute, pushing back an errant lock of hair.  "I think her and Cath went shopping."

"I'd give anything to know what for," Chibodee grumbled ill-naturedly.

Shirley's interest was piqued to the point of insatiable curiosity.

_What's gotten into him, I wonder?_ She sighed inwardly, wishing that Bunny was present.

Shirley was the unofficial leader of the four crew members, but quiet Bunny was the best suited for smoothing Chibodee's ruffled feathers.  Quite frankly, it surprised Shirley that her employer – for whom she had a great deal of affection and respect – was in such an uncharacteristic mood.

_It's not like him to get into a huff_, she mused.  _Something must be up._

"Yeah, you could say that," Chibodee snapped, his green eyes flashing as he leaned against the doorway, his form fairly bristling with suppressed indignation.

_Uh-oh…I don't like the sound of this!_ Shirley winced inwardly, but she continued to forge bravely forward.

"What's wrong?" she urged gently, setting her papers on top of the glass coffee table.  "Sit down, Chibodee, and talk to me," she patted the leather cushions beside her.

"I don't see why I should bother," he grumbled, but did as Shirley suggested.  "It's not like you all talk to _me_."

Shirley couldn't help but gaze at Chibodee in blank amazement.  She turned so that she could look at his face better and eyed him searchingly, trying to accurately assess his mood and the reason for it.  Boxer and gundam fighter he may have been, but Chibodee was a fairly laid-back individual, "rolling with the punches" so to speak.  It bothered her to see him so visibly upset and even worse, feeling a bit sorry for himself.  Chibodee Crocket never succumbed to fits of self-doubt; if anything, he was usually accused of being _too_ self-assured.

"Okay, out with it," she straightened, steeling herself for a long, complicated interrogation.

Sometimes, her exuberant "Boss" could be about as open as a clam.  Chibodee wasn't the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve, preferring to hide behind his egotistical, "tough-guy" reputation.  Shirley was certain that getting him to admit his innermost feelings would be tantamount to a verbal boxing match.

_In the red corner, we have Shirley Lane, challenging the reigning champion of fancy verbal footwork, Chibodee Crocket, who's fuming in the blue corner.  What a match this is gonna' be, folks!  What'll be?  Will Shirley be able to knock some sense into the defender and wrestle a confession, or will Chibodee remain a ticking time bomb of pent-up frustration?_

Chibodee remained "a ticking time bomb of pent-up frustration."  He shifted uncomfortable on the leather couch, risked a half-ashamed glance in Shirley's direction, and then sighed heavily.

"It's nothin'," he stated mulishly.

"Liar," Shirley shot back, a bit disappointed by Chibodee's clam-like approach to the subject.

"It's…it's…it's nothin'," Chibodee shook his head and the stubborn look that Shirley knew only too well crossed his face.

_Gosh-darn it, folks!  It looks like Chibodee's gonna' win this match.  He's got his heels dug in an' it don't look like he's gonna' back down!_

"I just wanted to know where Bunny was, that's all," he stood abruptly to his feet and grinned weakly at his "girl", no doubt to put her at ease.

Shirley wasn't so easily fooled.

"One of these days, Chibodee, you're gonna' have to trust someone other than yourself," she crossed her arms and stared up at him meaningfully.

"Hey, I trust plenty of people," Chibodee spread his arms open wide, palms up in a show of surrender.  "Domon, Sai, Argo, George, Rain, you girls…I'm a very trusting fellow," he grinned again.

_Ever the charmer_, Shirley sighed in defeat.

"That's not what I meant," she shook her head.  "Trusting someone to watch your back in a fight is one thing – trusting someone enough to show them your feelings is a totally different matter."

"Pshaw!" Chibodee turned his back and waved his hand airily.  "Don't get all psychological on me, Shirley.  I...I was just a bit miffed, that's all, since I couldn't find Bunny."

_Funny…I don't recall you ever getting that 'miffed' before over a missing crewmember_, Shirley retorted mentally as she watched her employer saunter out of the room.

"Men," she sniffed, picking up her paperwork and idly shuffling it in a preoccupied manner.  "What nuts."

"What was that?" Chibodee suddenly reappeared, a shirt in one hand and his boots in the other.

"Nothing" Shirley returned smoothly, smiling sweetly.

Chibodee didn't reply, but he eyed her strangely before setting his boots down and pulling his shirt over his head.

_There!  I can be just as aggravating and cryptic as you, Chibbee!_

She smirked at the thought of the pet name the "girls" had given to Chibodee behind his back.

However, the instant Chibodee's head reappeared, Shirley wiped the smile off of her face and met his gaze stoically, the epitome of sobriety.

"Did Bunny and Cath say where exactly they'd be shopping?" Chibodee decided it was best to change the subject, clearly uncomfortable with the lull that had settled between them.

"Uh…I think Cath said something about 5th Avenue, but I'm not one hundred percent sure," Shirley picked a fallen hair off of her sweatpants' left knee.

"Good start as any," was the undaunted reply as Chibodee pulled his boots on.  "I don't know when I'll be back," he continued, straightening and hooking his thumbs on his belt loops.  "If I'm not back home before six, you girls go ahead and eat without me."

"Sure," Shirley nodded in confirmation.  "The house'll still be here when you get back."

"Will you be, though?" Chibodee asked jokingly, but Shirley thought she heard a plaintive questioning in her friend's voice.

"We'll always be here fore ya', Chibodee," she answered brightly, as if countering his "joke."

Chibodee didn't reply; a thoughtful, distant look entered his eyes and he left rather abruptly, mumbling a "goodbye" over his shoulder.  Shirley watched him go, feeling distinctly unsettled.

"What was all that about?" Janet's voice startled Shirley and she nearly fell off of the couch in surprise.

"Eavesdropping, are we?" Shirley scolded, scowling up at her co-worker, who now stood where Chibodee had been, leaning against the living room entryway.

"I've been in the kitchen, so I only caught the tail end of your conversation.  I saw the Boss storming past a couple of minutes ago and I began to wonder what was up.  I didn't hear what was bugging him, though – he did ask me if I knew where Bunny was."

"Yeah – he told me that's what his problem was," Shirley ran her fingers through her hair, pulling her bangs away from her face.  "But he's not a very good liar.  When he covers up, it's noticeable a mile off."

"A bit under the weather, maybe?" Janet cocked her head to one side.

"I think it's more than that," Shirley shoo her head, rubbing her temples.  "Honestly – that man gives me a headache some times."

"Join the club, honey," Janet laughed shortly.  "But you've gotta' love him; he's a like a mutt, kinda'.  Grows on you after a while and you can't stay mad at him for long."

"Still, he has issues," Shirley sniffed indignantly.  "And he won't talk about them.  He just tries to cover them up, or broods over them like he's got PMS."

"Do you think – just maybe – that he heard about Cath?" Janet cocked a blonde eyebrow and Shirley groaned.

"I'll bet you a dollar to dog biscuit that he did," she sat back in bitter defeat.  "That would explain why he was in such a tiff.  I told you guys that we should have broken the news to him a long time ago.  I mean, I'd be a little pissed off, too, if I learned that a close friend's been dating a guy for over two years, has been engaged for three months, is getting married in two, and I've never even met the guy!  And on top of all of that, we're all much more than 'friends' to him – we're his family, for all intent and purposes."

"Like mothers looking out for a son," Janet laughed.

"Exactly."

"So now what do we do?" the blonde turned toward her friend in supplication.

"Just hope and pray that some miserable unfortunate doesn't wander across his path and wind up with a busted jaw," Shirley shrugged helplessly.  "And that he stays fairly reasonable and fairly sober so we can talk him through all of this."

"That's asking for a bit much, don't you think?" Janet snorted.

"I still hold out some small faith in a higher being," Shirley said desperately.  "Let's hope it intervenes."


	3. Pickpocket

_"My heart is like an open highway_

_Like Frankie said,_

_I did it my way._

_I just wanna' live while I'm alive._

_It's my life."_

**"It's My Life"**

**Bon Jovi**

His back was turned.

That was good.

Even better was the slight bulge in his back pocket, the telltale sign of a well-stocked wallet.

She never knew what possessed her to pick that particular pocket, or why his dark blue hair and lean form had caught her eye.  Perhaps if she had seen his face, she would have thought twice about sneaking up behind him and slipping her thumb and forefinger into his pocket, easing his wallet slowly out while he talked affably to the street vender.  A large, brown cowboy hat hid his face from her – all she could see from her side-view vantage was a straight, firm jaw, a thick, dark blue sideburn, and a crooked smile.

Certainly nothing remarkable about that.  Just another average Joe sauntering down the crammed street, enjoying a pleasant, late Saturday afternoon.

In mere seconds, she'd have wriggled his wallet free.  In mere seconds, she'd have been dashing into the safe anonymity of the crowds.  She almost got away with it – but then Shirley's higher being intervened.

So intent was she on freeing his wallet without him knowing, that she failed to notice when he reached behind him, his hand aimed for his back pocket.  But instead of his wallet, his fingers came in contact with the soft skin of her arm.  Both reacted instantly – he was supposed to feel skin when reaching for his wallet and she wasn't supposed to feel his fingertips brush against the little hairs on her arm.

"What the hell?" he roared, whirling around with surprising agility.

But she wasn't going down without a fight.  At that very instant, she jerked her hand away, carrying his wallet tightly within her grasp.  She had her prize – now all that was left to be seen to was a successful escape.

"Why you little –" he reached toward her, intending to grab hold of her arm, but she leapt sprightly out of the way, swinging out for all she was worth.

Her fist connected sharply with the side of his jaw with a rather satisfying "smack."

Three things happened simultaneously.

First, his had was driven back sharply with the force of her blow, eliciting a grunt of pain.  Next, his hat fell off and her eyes widened with fear and surprise.  Finally, her punch caught him so completely unawares, that he fell to the ground in a startled heap, accompanied with a muffled oath.

_Oh, shit!  Now I've done it!_ She panicked, her eyes widening with horrified recognition.

There was no time to think; time stood still and she acted on instinct.  Whirling around, taking advantage of the spare seconds, the girl sprinted off down the street – and right into two pairs of waiting arms.

"Hey, Boss!  You okay?" one of the girl's captors – a tall young woman with dark brown hair and glasses – held onto her squirming quarry's arm for all she was worth.  "And you…stop it now or I'll rattle some sense into ya'!"

"No need to do that, Bunny," Chibodee scolded her, slowly picking himself off of the sidewalk, rubbing his jaw as he stared thoughtfully at the would-be pickpocket.

"Mr. Crocket!  Do you want me to call the police?" the scandalized vender scowled at Cath and Bunny's frightened captive.

"Naw," Chibodee waved his hand, still eyeing the young girl.  "You pack quite a punch, little lady," he addressed her for the first time.

"Look!  I'm sorry," the girl finally found enough courage to squeak.  "I-I-I didn't know you-you were…Chibodee Crocket…"

"You can let her go, girls," Chibodee ordered, stepping up directly in front of the girl.  "You won't run off now, will you?" he demanded kindly, placing his hand beneath her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

"N-n-no," she gasped, shaking her head as best she could, considering that her jaw was locked in Chibodee's firm grip.

"Let go of her Cath, Bunny," Chibodee frowned at them both and they complied, albeit a bit grudgingly.  "Now – could I have my wallet back?"

"Yes," the boxing champion left go of her chin and she thrust his stolen property promptly into his hands.

"You're not just going to let her get off?" Bunny cried.  "Not that easily!"

"Who said I was 'letting her off'?" Chibodee turned toward his assistant, raising a blue eyebrow.

_Oh, gods!  I've really done it this time!  He's going to throw me in jail – I just know it!  How could I have been so stupid?_

"You're the first person in years to knock me down with a single blow," Chibodee crossed his arms and gazed down at the offender.

"I…you…um…"

_I'm at a complete loss for words.  Geez!  I must sound like a real idiot._

"You've got spunk.  I admire that," Chibodee continued, seemingly oblivious to the girl's sudden speech impediment.  "What's your name, kid?"

"Uh…Max."

"'Max' what?"

"M-Max-Max…Adrian," the girl shifted uncomfortably, risking a glance at Bunny and Cath, who still flanked her.

"Max, huh?  I like that," Chibodee's face suddenly brightened in a smile and he clapped his hand congenially on the girl's shoulder.  "How'd you like to come work for me?"

"What?!" Cath and Bunny cried in unison; Max simply gaped at Chibodee in blank astonishment.

"Don't pass judgment, girls," Chibodee frowned slightly at the two.  "Wasn't too long ago when we were all street rats like Max here," he paused and gave her that special smile once again.

"Do you really mean that, Mr. Crocket?" Max finally whispered, barely daring to believe.  "You'd let me work for you?  After what I did?"

_I can't believe this is happening!  This must be a dream – Chibodee Crocket didn't just ask me to work for him.  He couldn't have!_

"I've done worse, kid," the fighter's face darkened briefly.  "Believe me.  And anyway, you've gotta' have guts to do what you just did."

"But I didn't know it was you," Max hung her head and stared at her scuffed tennis shoes.

"You think picking pockets is easy?" Chibodee chuckled wryly.  "I've done it, kid – it's about the stupidest thing you can do, but it also takes a hell of a lot of gall.  So…what'll it be?  You wanna' work for me, Max Adrian?"

_Don't be an idiot, Max!  This must be your lucky day.  Take it!  Take the chance – whatever he wants you to do has to be better than sleeping in a cardboard box._

"I-I'd like that a lot," Max finally looked up from the cement.  "If that's all right with you."

"Of course it's all right with me," Chibodee grinned and clapped his arm around Max's thin shoulders.  "Or I wouldn't have offered you the job."

He suddenly turned and seemed to really notice Cath and Bunny for the first time.

"Lucky thin you girls were walking down this way.  I could have lost this gutsy little fighter and my wallet," he grinned cheekily.

_Did he just call me a 'fighter'?  Does he always pick stray waifs up off of the streets and offer them jobs?  What does he see in me anyway?_

"Now, ladies, let's go home, shall we?" Chibodee wrapped his arm around Bunny and winked at Cath.  "Janet and Shirley are sure to have somethin' good cookin' and then we can all talk."

"Talk?" Cath ventured nervously and almost self-consciously moved the shopping bag emblazoned with "Don's Bridal" behind her leg.

"Yep," Chibodee didn't lose his goofy smile, but there was a steely glint in his eyes.  "You've got some explainin' to do – all three o' ya'!"


	4. Family Council

_"This is for the ones who stood their ground –_

_For Tommy and Gina who never backed down."_

**"It's My Life"**

**Bon Jovi**

"All right, then," Chibodee collapsed into the living room's leather armchair and sternly surveyed his gathered crew.  "We've got some serious powwowing to do."

_I feel like I've suddenly become part of the Brady Bunch,_ Max thought, eyeing the little group spread across the width of the sprawling living room.

"And we're gonna' start with you, Max," he draped his legs over the arm of the chair and pointed a finger straight at the startled girl.

"M-me?" she stuttered.

"You," he folded his hands calmly over his belt buckle.  "How old are you?"

"Um…sixteen," Max replied slowly.

_I'd better be careful about how I answer his questions – I'm sure Aunt Jo has an alert out for me and I don't want to give myself away._

"Where you from?"

"The Philadelphia sector," she blurted out immediately.

_That's about as far from the __Atlanta__ sector as I can manage.  With the exception of here, that is_.

"You got any family?"

"No, sir," Max hung her head and studied her fingernails.

_That's practically the truth, since I didn't really know Aunt Jo and Uncle Jack that well.  They were more like strangers than family…what little family have left deserted me._

She thought bitterly of her father and brother who had left her standing, bewildered and alone, at the head of her mother's grave.  Chibodee's next business-like question quickly interrupted her reminiscing, however.

"So what's your story, kid?  How'd you end up here in the NYC sector?"

"My mother died," Max replied softly, suddenly ashamed of the tears that started to prick at the corner of her eyes.  "I-I just wandered about after that.  I don't have any family – not here in the colony, anyway."

_Now you've done it, dumb ass!  Why'd you go and say that?_ She scolded herself for her slip-up.  _Now he'll want to know what family you have on Earth and send you packing.  And Da'll only send me back to Aunt Jo…damn!_

Max missed the sudden softening of Chibodee's features.  He watched her quietly for a few minutes, as if remembering his own tragedy.  His heart went out to her – he knew well what it was like to lose a mother.

"How come you're not with your family on Earth?" he continued his interrogation a bit more gently.

"Mom…didn't…get along with them well," Max began to fiddle with a loose string on the cuff of her worn-out sleeves, trying to blink away tears.  "Her death was kinda' sudden, so…she didn't really have time to-to put me somewhere.  I'd have probably gone to an orphanage, anyway…Da didn't really want me."

"'Da'?  Your father?" Chibodee raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Hmmm…how do you know he doesn't want you?"

"Because he walked away and left me," Max whispered, tears coming for good this time around.  "He left me at the funeral."

Everyone in the room stared at her in blank amazement.

_Poor kid.  She's really had a tough break,_ Chibodee frowned.  _I suppose if her father doesn't want her, then I won't be faced with any legal encroachments._

"How long ago was this?"

"Uh…five months," Max glanced up, as if to gauge Chibodee's opinion on the matter.

_Of course, it's only been three, but fudging the truth won't hurt, I guess.  I can't very well tell them three, 'cause that'll look suspicious if they see a 'missing persons' poster or a TV report._

Max wasn't afraid of her unlikely rescuer or his band of girls suspecting anything based on her appearance.  She had let her hair grow long and had dyed it a dark purple.  She knew she looked a far cry from the pampered rich kid she had once been – she blended in perfectly on the streets as a teenage punk.  Included in her array was a battered, black leather jacket, a pair of old blue jeans, scuffed-up tennis shoes, and biker gloves.  She had long ago sold what little jewelry she had taken with her and losing a considerable amount of weight virtually rendered her unrecognizable.  Only a very close scrutiny of her pale, almost gaunt face would reveal her true identity – a scrutiny she didn't expect from Chibodee or any of his girls.

_As long as I don't say anything dumb and give myself away_, she reminded herself.

"You got any special skills – besides stealing wallets, that is?" Chibodee grinned kindly and Max risked a rather watery, wobbly smile of her own.

_Uh-oh…I've gotta' be careful here.  The last thing I need is for anyone to recognize my voice!  Of course, I'm sure there's plenty of kids who can sing…_

"Um…I'm sure I don't have any skills you all could really use," Max felt like melting into the cracks of the leather sofa.

"The girls and me can teach you what you need to know," Chibodee winked.  "But I was asking just to get a feel for what kind of person you are.  Surely you have some hobbies, or special interests, or somethin'."

"I write," Max felt incredibly silly telling that to a national hero and world-class boxing champion.

_I'm going to sound like a real pansy,_ she winced inwardly.

"A writer, eh?  What kind of stuff do ya' write?"

"Umm…short stories…poems…essays…y'know, stuff," Max shrugged uncomfortably.

"Anything else?"

"Um…I used to be part of the debate and speech clubs at my old school," Max offered lamely.

_Please don't ask me where I went to school!_

"And I did theater and…um…singing."

"Great!" Chibodee beamed.  "You do any kind of sports?"

Max shook her head.

_No…because I'm 'el geeko.'  And I used to be a chubby tub of lard, too._

"Really?" the boxer sounded shocked.  "You'd make a pretty good fighter, you ask me," his eyes crinkled in a smile.  "Of course, they probably don't teach boxing at the average high school, huh?"

Max shook her head again.

_They sure don't.  That's something you learn on the streets, I guess.  God knows I've been in plenty of scraps in the past three months.  Not that that makes me an athlete or anything._

"Well," Chibodee shifted in his seat, sitting up right for a change.  "Since you don't have anywhere else to go, you can now consider yourself an official part of the group," he waved toward Bunny and the others.  "The girls'll teach you what you need to know as far as working on the Maxter and being a part o' my ring crew."

Max's eyes grew wide.

_I'll get to work on the Gundam Maxter and help Chibodee Crocket with his boxing matches?  I swear to God – this must be a dream!_

"So, welcome aboard, Max Adrian," Chibodee stuck his hand out across the coffee table.

Max stared at his hand for a few seconds, then hesitantly reached out and the two solemnly shook hands.

"Now, I suppose introductions are in store," he looked pointedly at Shirley, who took her cue.

"I'm Shirley Laine," she smiled kindly at the young girl sitting beside her on the couch.

"She's the top-bitch around here – in more ways that one," Bunny smirked at her own wit.

"Bunny!" Shirley howled as Chibodee guffawed.  "How could you?"

"I'm Bunny Higgins, by the way," the brunette pushed her glasses up on her nose and leaned against the opposite end of the couch, smiling winningly at the infuriated Shirley.

"I'm Cath Lonary," the rather nervous-looking, dark-skinned woman sitting on Max's left side cracked a weak smile, risking a haggard glance toward Chibodee, who didn't seem to notice.

"Last, but certainly not least – I'm Janet Smith," the pretty blond piped up from her seat on the floor, beside the gargantuan fireplace.

"And I need no introduction," Chibodee stated pompously, leaning back in his chair with a smug look; Shirley rolled her eyes and groaned.

"I'm warning you – the Boss has an ego the size of Texas," she shook her head in mock disapproval.  "What he fails to realize is that he's a man of many faults."

"And it's our solemn duty to harass the hell out of him about them," Janet snickered.

"Though we usually just grin and bear it," Bunny added with a laugh.  "And pop a few aspirin on the side."

"Anyone who knows him, does," Janet giggled, catching Chibodee's eye.

"Yeah, well…I have to walk on eggshells around here every month," Chibodee grumbled good-naturedly.  "Seeing that there's four o' ya'."

_Are they joking about what I think they're joking about?_ Max looked about her in slightly scandalized shock.

"Would you believe me if I told you that he keeps a chart?" Janet's eyes danced mischievously.

"No," Max stated bluntly.

"Well, he does," the blond nearly doubled over with laughter at the look on Max's face.

"Only so I know when to stay out of the damned house," Chibodee tried – unsuccessfully – to defend himself.  "When one stops, the other starts – it's hell!"

"We're even nice enough to put a little colored dot on the kitchen calendar so he knows when and who to veer clear of," Shirley grinned broadly.

"Because, just like the women they are, they're never punctual," Chibodee gazed at Max with such a doleful look that she couldn't help but snicker.  "Not that I need to be told, usually.  I can generally tell without ever looking at the calendar," he began to point at each woman in turn.  "Bunny starts to cry like a leaking faucet –"

"Chibodee!  Now, that's not fair!" Bunny protested, but he ignored her and kept going.

"Janet starts to stomp about the house like hell's harpy.  Shirley's liable to knock my lights out if I so much as look as her.  And Cath hides with her hot water bottle and pillows."

"Just like a man, he's highly exaggerating the facts," Shirley stated loftily.  "But it's the truth – after you've been here a while, you'll notice that there are certain days in the month when you won't see hide or hair of the Boss."

"You can usually find him in the gym, though," Janet amended.

"But you've got to go searching for him – with a map, a safari hat, and a net.  He won't come into the main part of the house of his own volition," Shirley laughed.

"We have fun hunting him down, though," Bunny added.

"It's especially funny if you happen to be the one he's trying to hide from," Janet grinned wickedly in Chibodee's direction.  "He gets this 'oh-hell-not-you' look on his face and then hides behind his punching bag, pretending to hit it."

Max couldn't stand it.  She broke out into peels of laughter, trying to imagine the gung-ho champion of public image, cowering before and hiding from his own "girls."

_They're crazy!  And it's so weird to hear a guy joking about a woman's period!  But it's hilarious – not like back home.  There wasn't anything to laugh about there and Aunt Jo would have a conniption if she knew I was privy to conversation like this.  I really think I'm going to like it here…_

She missed the wink that passed between Chibodee, Bunny, Janet, and Shirley.

"Well…now that that's all out of the way," Chibodee cleared his throat.  "You look tired."

Max wasn't about to deny it.

_About time you brought that up!_


End file.
